


afraid to call this place our own

by brighterthanacarnival



Series: enzo's, friday, 7:00 p.m. [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Jopper, Phone Call, Season 3 Spoilers, drunk Murray, moving away from Hawkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 03:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighterthanacarnival/pseuds/brighterthanacarnival
Summary: *season 3 spoilers*-Joyce always thought that leaving Hawkins would solve her problems. She's beginning to realize she might have been wrong.





	afraid to call this place our own

Joyce doesn’t feel the need to stroll through the house one last time. There’s nothing left for her but memories in the building and most of the ones she can recall aren’t happy. She isn’t crying yet; she’s just grateful she finally slept more than a few hours last night, considering the drive ahead of them. She studies the living room, thinking of Christmas lights and scribbled-over papers and imagined phone calls.

She hears the kids in the front yard and tries to remember more of the good times, but the only faded images she can muster up come from random birthday dinners and board game nights. She holds on to the doorknob.

“ _ I want you to feel like this can still be your home. _ ”

Joyce exhales and closes the front door.

The tears come as she embraces Nancy and focuses on Jonathan over her shoulder. There’s a wistful look in his eyes that he tries to cover up with a smile, and God, she wishes she wasn’t doing this. Part of her wants to tear down the sign in the front yard and call up the real estate agent, but she knows it’s too late.

She hugs the rest and walks away; observes as the kids hug each other. They cry and make tentative plans because none of them want to let go. They don’t want this distance, and part of her doesn’t either, but there’s a difference between want and need. She buries her face in her hands as she stands next to the U-Haul, but she looks up again—rests her cheek on her fist, trying to collect herself.

No more monsters or plagued memories.

-

El rides with Joyce in the U-Haul truck, crying while Joyce tries not to. She reaches for El’s hand and squeezes hard. The teenager sniffs. Joyce struggles to get out a sentence.

“We’ll come back to visit.”

She glances over to see El nod several times as she stares through the windshield. She wipes at her nose. Joyce focuses on the road, forcing her mind not to wander away.

They stop for a bathroom break at a 7-Eleven and Joyce searches for snacks to buy while she waits for the kids. She strolls through the aisles and comes across a slurpee machine. She notes the flavors—cola and cherry—and stares at it longer than another passerby probably would.

“ _...it doesn’t matter, because it all tastes the same, okay? It is sugar on ice. _ ”

“Mom?”

Will’s expression is full of concern. She always forgets how tall he’s grown until he’s standing next to her.

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

She doesn’t look back at the machine. She nods and forces a smile.

“I’m fine, baby.”

She pays for the food and they hit the road again.

-

It’s not home.

She knew it when she closed on the house and she knows it when ugly, green wallpaper greets them. El curls up on the carpet and falls asleep.

She’d taken them to see the house before, and the kids had liked it alright then. But as she wanders with her sons through each of the rooms once again, it’s clear to Joyce that her boys don’t want to be here. None of them can bring themselves to empty the U-Haul just yet, so they don’t.

They go out into the backyard. There’s a swing set the previous, elderly owners left behind and Will runs to it. A woman with red hair waves from her place in a lounge chair next door. Joyce returns the gesture and bites her lip. Jonathan leaves to unlock the U-Haul.

It doesn’t feel familiar and she’s not sure time will change that.

-

The new job pays more than Melvald’s did, so she’s happy about that aspect of the move. She works as a cashier at a grocery store called Fitzgerald’s. After she gets home one night in early November, Jonathan is already in the kitchen unpacking dishes.

“Hey, how was work?” she asks, going in. She reaches into the box and takes out a casserole dish.

“Pretty good. Will and El went to the arcade, by the way.”

“Alright.” She searches through the cabinets, trying to find the right spot. “Do you like the bookstore so far?”

He nods and she grabs another box from the floor. She slides a knife through the tape; notices that he’s looking at her.

“Mom, can we talk?”

She frowns at his hesitant tone.

“Of course.”

She expects him to say that he wants to move out. He’s eighteen, so she would understand, but he’d said he wanted to live at home for another year while he saves for school. She doesn’t think she can handle it if he leaves so soon. She braces herself for the statement.

“I think you need to go out.”

She scrunches her eyebrows up and glances away, relieved. She exhales and focuses on unwrapping a cup from its bubble wrap.

“What? Where is this coming from?”

The question comes out in a chuckle. There’s a long pause. Jonathan is standing still.

“You...you haven’t dated in a while. You haven’t even...really done something with friends. I think it would be good if you did.”

She doesn’t let Hopper’s words replay in her head. She doesn’t think about her dream from the night before. She doesn’t admit that she can’t forget his last smile.

“We just moved here.”

“We’ve been here for three weeks.”

Joyce’s eyes widen in surprise.

“And we’re just barely unpacking these? Have we really been using paper dishes for that long?”

“Mom.”

She sighs and sets the cup down on the counter. She peers out the window at the gray world surrounding their house. Rain taps on the window.

“I’m fine, Jonathan. Don’t worry about me. I’m settling in; we all are.”

“Mom.” The name is strained as he speaks. She meets his eyes but he looks away. “You’re...you’re wearing one of his shirts.”

Joyce had changed when she got home. Her fingers curl around the sleeves she’d forgotten to roll up and she clears her throat, realizing he’s right. She doesn’t know what to say, so she stares at the cup she’d set on the counter. She can see the flannel reflected in the glass. It’s quiet.

“I mean, I know. I knew it then, too.” She clears her throat, looking away as he continues. “Right? You two…” He trails off and she still doesn’t know what to say. “I mean, you have feelings for him?”

Have. Present tense. Joyce sinks down into a chair and regards her son. She swallows, trying to collect herself as she grasps for something to say.

“I’m fine, honey. I put on the first thing I could find because I keep forgetting to do laundry.”

Jonathan won’t stop contemplating her. He shuffles his feet, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I know it’s hard for you right now.”

She lets her forehead rest in her hand, glad that El and Will are at the arcade because she doesn’t dare talk about this in front of them. But Jonathan? As much as she hates it, he’s always been too observant to miss anything and she hasn’t always tried to hide as much as she should have from him. The words spill.

“I killed him.” The words feel sticky and hot in her mouth. She swallows and takes in a shuddering breath. “I let Hopper die.”

She’d told him about the keys and everything that led up to Jim’s death back when it had first happened, but it hurts to say these words. It tears at her from the inside and makes her want to scream. What if. What if. What if. ‘What if’ does no good because he’s gone.

She feels Jonathan’s arms wrap around her and she holds on to him until she is calm again. She wipes her nose. He sits across from her.

“There’s nothing you could have done,” he says. Joyce shrugs and shakes her head. It isn’t true. “He wouldn’t want you to feel like this, mom.”

A quick flash of light bathes the room. The rain pounds harder. She wonders if the weather will evolve into snow.

“I should go pick up the kids. They can’t ride back.”

“I’ll do it,” Jonathan offers.

“I don’t want you driving in this.”

He’s already putting on a jacket.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not too bad yet, and the drive only takes a few minutes.” He grabs his keys. “I’ll be back by the time you finish these.”

He nods toward the dishes and leaves with a reassuring expression. She plays with the sleeves of the flannel as she hears the front door shut, rubbing the fabric between her fingertips. She finishes putting the cups away and looks around, trying to experience some sort of comfort. But putting the dishes away hasn’t made her feel better. The house feels the same as it did with the dishes in the boxes.

She jumps when she hears the phone ring. She takes a deep breath to calm herself and answers it, expecting it to be Will asking if she can pick them up.

"Hello?" she says.

"Joyce?"

She frowns, trying to place the familiar voice. Her eyes widen.

"Murray? Why..."

She hasn’t heard from him in forever, so she doesn’t know what to think.

"Great! I've been meaning to call you, but I...I, um, got caught up with some things—important things. How’re you?"

"I-I'm fine. You?"

"Oh, I'm great; couldn't be better. Everything is...just peachy."

His words are slurred and awkward. She thinks back to Hopper's funeral and compares that pretending-not-to-cry Murray to this I-might-be-drunk-right-now Murray. She listens to him muttering something she can’t understand.

"Are you—"

"Joyce, this is very important. Very important, now, please answer this: nobody found Hopper's body, right? There was no body!"

She pulls the phone away from her ear. He shouts more and she thinks about hanging up. He’s obviously not in his right mind.

“Murray, stop yelling! Are you drunk?”

There’s a long pause. She hears crashing.

“No! Well, maybe a little bit. I’m...celebrating!”

“What was that?”

“Who’s the one yelling, now?” Murray shouts.

Joyce cringes at his loud voice.

“Why did you call me?”

“Because there was no body, Joyce! We went to the funeral! No body!”

She’s still trying to register that she’s on the phone with Murray Bauman and that he’s talking about Jim Hopper.

“Yes, I’m aware of that!”

She hears the front door open. Three pairs of feet enter. She walks as far away from the kitchen entrance as she can, her heart beating fast.

“Oh, come on! Your son’s body was found in a lake and you didn’t give a shit, did you? You went right on believing that he was alive.”

“What? Why are you—”

“Mom?”

She waves to Will and holds up a finger. He nods and walks away.

“So, why not Jim, huh? I know it’s been months, but I...I think it could be a possibility...”

She hates hearing him talk about Hopper like he’s another theory to be obsessed over. She hates this unexpected phone call. It makes her relive those days right after the Starcourt Mall incident. She can’t hope again. She can’t let the kids hope only to have it taken away.

“I watched him die!” Joyce hisses into the phone.

“Did you? Or are you remembering it that way? Remember the investigation?”

She’s speechless. El walks into the kitchen, a small half-smile crossing her face when she sees Joyce. How long has it been since she really smiled? The teenager is wearing a bright green shirt and her long hair is wet from the rain. Joyce inhales and stalks back to where the phone is kept.

“I don’t appreciate this at all. Call me when you’re sober or, you know, maybe don’t call again.”

She slams the phone back into its place and turns to El, trying to process. She musters a smile even though her hands are shaking. It’s best to act like nothing is wrong. El peers at Joyce with concern.

“Who was that?”

“Oh, just...an old friend.” She can focus on the phone call later. She wishes for a cigarette, but she hasn’t bought any since they moved in. She’s trying to quit. “How was the arcade? Is it better than the one back in Hawkins?”

El continues to peer at Joyce suspiciously, but Will enters and they all talk about the arcade. She makes macaroni and cheese. She pretends the phone call didn’t happen. She doesn’t tell Jonathan about it after dinner. She washes the dishes, staring out the window over the sink, observing the solitary trees swaying in the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired to write this while listening to the song "Are We There Yet" by Ingrid Michaelson. The title is derived from the lyrics. I've really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you enjoyed it too! Thank you for reading; kudos/comments are always appreciated! More to come.


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